


The Cottage with the Apple Tree

by wickersnap



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Guardian Angels, Brief Explicit Interlude, Erik adopts like five other people into his home, Erik is a Sweetheart, Erik reunites with his children, M/M, Mentioned Jean Grey, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, They're all very dramatic, allusion to Pietro/Kurt, except they're not really angels?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:41:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22991905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickersnap/pseuds/wickersnap
Summary: Erik can be forgiven for not expecting a complete stranger to willingly take a bullet for him. He can be doubly forgiven for not expecting the wound to close in a matter of minutes, after that, and triply forgiven for being wholly, undoubtedly confused by the whole business.Perhaps the thing he expects least of all, however, is how rapidly his family grows while he's not paying attention.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr & Pietro Maximoff, Erik Lehnsherr & Wanda Maximoff, Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Comments: 6
Kudos: 88





	The Cottage with the Apple Tree

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thank you for dropping in :)  
> I hope you enjoy this silly journey of emotional broadening and acceptance, it's definitely a piece written for my own self-satisfaction.  
> Miss Maximoff's name has been assumed from Earth-616, though none of her abilities have.  
> Find me on [tumblr ](https://silverxsakura.tumblr.com/) :)  
> Playlists for them on [Apple ](https://music.apple.com/gb/playlist/charles-erik/pl.u-V9D7Z9aiRNE8Wb) and [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/limitedangelz/playlist/3xyhuHgxigUBlglYJr27bi?si=WorBqgr6SESYAPU1z8iRXw) (please forgive the usernames)

“Oh,  _ piss,” _ says a soft, flowing voice right next to Erik’s ear. There’s the dull thudding of a body hitting the floor and a flurry of a soft white mass. Erik wrenches girders from the building and sends them sailing (blunt-ended) into every remaining man holding a gun. Within the moment the warehouse falls into near silence, broken only by the sound of heavy breathing.

“I am sorry, my dear friend,” says the voice again. “This really is  _ not _ supposed to happen.”

Erik looks down at the body lying on the floor at his feet. He’s a young man, maybe early twenties, incredibly pretty—disarmingly so. Slim but obviously strong by his exposed biceps, chubby around the middle. His hair is brown and fluffy and his lips are soft-looking and bitten red, and frustratingly,  _ infuriatingly, _ he is a perfect example of everything Erik could ever want on a man… Except for one glaringly outstanding occurrence. It’s not one that had ever factored into Erik’s few and far between fantasies, but, actually, maybe two occurrences.

Sprouting from the man’s shoulders are two huge, fluttering, white feathery wings.  _ Angel’s wings, _ Erik thinks, and then frowns at himself.

The other noticeable addition is the bloodied red-purple hole in his abdomen, seeping blood and pulsing with it.

“Where on  _ Earth _ did you come from?” Erik demands, even as he scoops up this stranger and cradles him to his chest. He feels one wing fold behind his shoulders to bracket them while the other drapes towards the floor. The bullet in the stranger’s abdomen worms its way up and out, turning in the air in front of them.

“Oh, that’ll do,” the stranger pants. “Really, just let me rest awhile and I’ll be okay.”

Erik frowns. “Like hell you will. I’m not having you die on me.”

The stranger laughs giddily and Erik’s frown deepens even farther.

“Oh, that  _ is _ good,” he says. “You’re not allowed to take over my job, you know.” He pats Erik’s shoulder heavily, uncoordinated. “Look, it’s healing already. I really am all right.”

Erik looks down and sees that he’s right, the wound does look like it’s closing. The blood is slowing to a bright red trickle from the previous brownish flood.

“What are you?” Erik asks. “And why did you say my words?”

“I did?!” the man yelps. “Oh bugger, no! This  _ really _ isn’t supposed to happen!”

Erik is nearly home now, staggering through the forest under the weight of a winged man who is wearing nothing at all metallic, the bastard. 

“If it makes you feel better, I think you’ve said mine as well.”

_ What?  _

Erik stumbles, readjusts his grip and keeps going. 

“You haven’t answered my question.”

The stranger sighs. “Oh, Erik… You were never supposed to know who I am.” 

“Well you’re here now, and I’m asking,” he growls.

“…I’m your guardian. I’m the little guardian on your shoulder looking over you.”

_ I’m supposed to take these bullets, _ is said next, directly into Erik’s mind. Erik shouts in surprise, barely metres from the door now. He reaches out to sense the locks and slide them open, tumbling into his front room and heaving this stranger, this  _ inhuman being _ onto his sofa. 

“Oof,” says the stranger. “Thank you very much my friend. I’m sorry you had to do that.”

“You’re lucky we were only out for a punch up with the locals,” Erik snaps.

The stranger flaps a vague hand in his direction, letting his head loll into his propped elbow. “Yes, well.”

Erik watches him, sprawled carelessly. His white cotton tunic and shorts are soaked.

“When you’re, err,  _ healed, _ I can wash your clothes for you.”

The stranger rolls his head to look at him, blinking. “All right,” he says. “And… I’m Charles Xavier. It’s nice to finally talk to you.”

Erik raises a brow. “Is it, now. Erik Lehnsherr, but you already know that.”

“I know all your names, Erik,” he giggles.

Erik goes to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water. He glances out of the window, as always, checking for movement. He returns to Charles and pushes the glass into his hands.

“Drink.” 

Charles looks at Erik from under his lashes. “Thank you,” he breathes, and takes a long sip. He holds the glass out to Erik again and flips up the bottom of his sticky tunic. The hole in his skin is gone, replaced by pale, unmarred skin. Charles’ fingers brush over it once, twice, and then he sits up fluidly and suddenly. Erik takes a step back.

“Do you have anything I can use in the meantime?” Charles asks. Erik nods. He beckons for Charles to follow him, pushing him into the bathroom and fetching a t-shirt and trousers from his bedroom drawers. He knocks on the door before he opens it, holding out the clothes and waiting until Charles takes them and hands him his ruined ones. He stubbornly does not think about the naked man in his bathroom, instead busying himself with his own method of bloodstain-removal, one that he’s been forced to find over the years.

He throws the clothes into the washing machine and slams the door shut in time to turn around and see Charles standing behind him, shirtless and hair dripping. It seems stupid, now, but Erik had forgotten about the wings.

“Thank you,” Charles says shyly. Erik flicks the machine on and doesn’t let his eyes wander from Charles’ face.

“Is there anything else I can get you? Do you eat?”

“I can make the food, if you’d like,” Charles says instead. “As thanks.”

Erik studies his face for a moment. He does not look the type to have learned how to cook. He shrugs, anyway, after a moment, and steps to the side. Charles pauses in front of him. His eyes flicker to Erik’s chest and back up to his face. 

“Go and clean yourself up. I’ll have dinner ready for you.”

“If that’s all right with you,” Erik says. He can hear Charles’ quiet laughter all the way upstairs in his bedroom.

Erik strips off his shirt, darker than black with Charles’ blood. He hangs it on the door handle and steps in front of the mirror.

The words down his side glow golden, shimmering as his muscles flex. It’s a far cry from their usual impervious black. A golden wing stretches from behind them, along the side of his ribs towards his shoulder. An  **Ｘ** crosses the root of the wing behind the letter tails. Erik inches his fingers towards it, gasping when warmth flares through his side and into his hand. He looks out onto the landing and listens to the noises coming from the kitchen.

First mutants, now these guardians. He barely dares to ask, what next?

Erik rinses Charles’ blood from his skin in the hottest shower he can bear and redresses, bringing his bloody shirt back downstairs with him to wash. Charles stands at the stove with his back to him, a bizarre picture in his ethereal glimmer and Erik’s trousers. His bare feet tap against the floor while he hums a tune Erik recognises deep, deep in the back of his mind.

“So you’re not incapable, then.”

Charles jumps, dropping the spatula with a clatter. “Not entirely,” he says. “How are you?”

Erik chuckles. “Shouldn’t I be asking  _ you?” _

“I’m built for this, you just throw yourself into it.”

“You  _ know _ I don’t go after them.”

Charles sighs. “I do. I’m sorry.”

“Nothing for you to apologise for,” Erik murmurs, pulling the only place settings he owns from the cupboards.

“It’ll be done in a minute or so,” Charles says. Erik puts the plates by his elbow. Charles follows him to the table a few minutes later with a quite presentable dinner. 

“This is good,” Erik tells him once he swallows a mouthful of green vegetables. Charles beams.

“I suppose you want to know about me and my, uh, friends,” he says, seeming unconcerned.

Erik’s brows lift with the corner of his lips. “You could say that.”

Charles’ legs swing under the table, his bare feet a whisper of a breath against Erik’s calves. He chews thoughtfully for a moment, fork tines dimpling his bottom lip when he rests it there.

“When a human finds themselves in danger, they’re assigned a guardian. This ended up a common story among some religious people, and it quite naturally spread to the rest of the world. The thing is, the old wives’ tale only came about because one of us slipped, like I have. Obviously, the same guardian deal is true for mutants like yourself.”

_ Except we, your guardians, are just like you. _

Erik manages to contain himself this time, forcing his frozen muscles to relax when Charles' presence pulls away.

“Sorry,” Charles says gently, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Erik shakes his head. “No, it’s fine. You’re not going to be in trouble, are you?”

Charles laughs. It’s a lovely sound. “Fortunately, no. Showing oneself to one’s charge is often frowned upon, but has no repercussions. We don’t have any higher power that we know of, or come from any one place, but knowing what we are is instinctive and sudden, as if it’s one day dropped into our minds. One odd thing I’ve noticed is that most of us—the mutants, I mean—are psychics, shapeshifters and teleporters. I suppose they’re very useful tricks to have.”

“You seem to me like one of the stronger ones,” Erik hazards. 

“Me?” he laughs. “Oh, no! You should meet Jean, she’s quite incredible. Her original charge heals himself quickly and efficiently enough that she’s hardly ever needed, and he hasn’t died in several centuries, so she reassigned to a young boy.”

“She switched?”

“Oh, she looks after her second charge, yes, but she never abandoned her first. She barely even breaks a sweat doing it, too.”

“Impressive,” Erik says. He sips from his water and watches Charles’ smile. It pulls a rusty, battered excitement up from Erik’s stomach and brings warmth into his cheeks, and he thinks he could survive on this feeling alone.

“She really is! My sister is currently on the shoulder of a teleporter who landed himself in a circus. She’s pretty much made herself his mother with the way she fusses, and it’s very amusing to see.”

“Oh?”

“Well, they’re both blue! It’s perfect, really, and she’s wonderfully happy where she is.” Charles sighs wistfully. “I’m really very proud of her.”

Erik smiles. “And I’m sure she would say the same of you.”

Charles flushes pink and doesn’t look up from his plate. “I haven’t exactly done very well, though, have I.”

“I’m still here,” Erik chuckles. “What more could I ask for?”

Quiet descends over the table for a long moment. Erik finishes his food and sets his cutlery down on his plate, indulging in watching Charles over his glass.

“Has anyone told you that your stare is very heavy?” he mumbles eventually.

Erik cracks a wide grin. “Not so as I’d notice.”

“Well it is,” Charles huffs. “I’m not used to being seen by humans.”

“Or mutants,” Erik says.

“Or mutants. Oh, I almost forgot to say, but I think your power is just brilliant!”

“Thank you very much, Charles. I think that as a whole you’re absolutely astounding.”

“I…” Charles ducks his head but doesn’t manage to hide his grin. “Thank you, my friend.”

*

Erik wakes at dawn. The early sunlight wanders in through the curtains he’d neglected to draw the night before and warms his feet where it splays across the blankets.

Next to him, on a pillow adjacent, is Charles. His eyelashes flutter ever so gently as he dreams, little breaths puffing out over his cheek, making a stray hair quiver. His tunic and shorts are pristine again, as white as his beautiful folded wings.

Erik reaches out to brush that strand of hair away. He tucks it behind Charles’ ear, and Charles twitches sleepily.

“Good morning,” Erik says. The hour has roughened his voice, made it stick to the base of his throat, but he smiles.

Charles blinks open his eyes, and shrieks. He sits up abruptly, red-faced, and the last Erik sees of him is his wide-eyed expression before he vanishes.

“Charles?” Erik asks the air. He sits up and looks around the room. “Charles?”

“You can come out now,” he calls into the apparently empty house when he’s eating breakfast in the kitchen.

“Really, Charles, you can come out,” he says before he goes to bed that night.

Charles doesn’t reappear. After a few days he stops asking.

He doesn’t know why he does it. He’s Erik Lehnsherr, cold and mistrustful and jaded. He doesn’t need friends or lovers or guardians, so it’s silly and it’s sneaky, but he can’t help saying, one evening, “How do I know you’re even still here?”

When he climbs the stairs to bed he finds a note pinned to the door.

_ I’m here, _ it reads.

*

The second time Erik sees Charles he’s sulking on top of the dresser.

Charles, that is, not Erik.

“Fucking  _ fuck!” _ Erik shouts, eloquently, upon walking in and seeing him. Charles gives him a look, and after a second or two Erik’s heart stops trying to make a break for it. Pain arches through his chest from his tensed muscles.

“Nice to see you, too,” Charles pouts. His left foot kicks against the drawer that rattles. His wings seem to be phasing through everything they touch.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Erik asks coolly. He can do callous. He’s done it his whole life. His middle name is callous. It’s never bothered him before.

Charles sighs. “I’m sorry, Erik, I really am. I… I panicked.”

“And it took you several months to calm down?”

He grimaces. “I spoke to Raven about it. She told me I was being stupid and then blocked me off.”

Raven?

“My sister,” he says. “The blue one.”

“The shapeshifter,” Erik clarifies.

“I never told you that.”

“Lucky guess.”

“Well, I’m sorry I disappeared,” Charles says with impressive dignity. “It was childish and silly and I won’t do it again. Probably.”

“Thank you, Charles.” Erik stands awkwardly for a moment, not really knowing what else to say. “Care for a drink?”

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

Charles hops off the dresser and follows Erik back downstairs. Erik takes two glasses from the cabinet in the living room and pours them generous measures. He hands one to Charles and sits down at the end of the sofa.

Charles copies him and perches like an overgrown hawk, his knees drawn up to his chest. Erik takes a sip and waits to feel it slip all the way down his throat before he talks.

“Tell me more about yourself, Charles.”

*

Erik only talks to Charles every few days, at least at first, but he has the decency to not completely ignore Erik in the meantime. He pops in and out, seemingly just to make Erik’s heart race each time. Erik doesn’t leap out of his skin anymore, but it turns out that Charles’  _ raison d’être _ is to be an obnoxiously terrible flirt.

He winks at Erik while thinking up pun after horrific pun. He brushes by Erik often, somehow never failing to “accidentally” touch his shoulders, thigh, back, arse or cheek, and sometimes several at the same time. 

“Oh, excuse me Erik,” said happily and completely unconcerned quickly becomes one of the most frustrating things Erik’s ever heard.

And Erik has to insist that wings are cheating.

*

“…So last she said that they’ve escaped now, and they’re a bit on the run and a bit at a loss for what to do with themselves,” Charles rambles. He’s propped on his end of the sofa, feet up on the cushions where Erik’s legs bracket them.

“Charles, I am not adopting random teenaged teleporters,” he says, swirling his drink. Charles chokes. 

“I’m not asking you to,” he mumbles unconvincingly.

“Really. It’s not safe around me.” 

“Nothing’s happened for almost a year,” he protests. “And I’m here! Protecting is literally my job! And Raven’s!”

Erik can’t really argue with that, but he still gets the occasional petulant feeling that  _ something _ is about to go wrong. “Still.”

“It’s fine, Erik, I’m really not asking you to.”

“I can hear the ‘yet’ in there, I’m not stupid.”

“You’re imagining things.” Charles’ hand flops down and strokes the inside of Erik’s foot.

“Charles,” Erik whispers, blindsided. The need to reach out and  _ touch _ is a physical ache.

“Do you ever…” Charles begins, trailing circles over Erik’s sock with his finger. “Do you ever wonder about this whole soulmate business?”

Erik blinks. An interesting non-sequitur.

“It’s odd, isn’t it?” he continues. “They write our words on our skin and turn them gold when they’re said, but nothing more than that? There’s no binding force, there’s no force that means we even necessarily meet each other, yet the words are still there. It feels a bit like cheating, to me.

“And even then, sometimes soulmates don’t get along. Sometimes they fight and hurt and hate for the rest of their lives. What good is such a destructive force? What need is there? Do you know what I mean?”

“No,” Erik says. “And yes.” Charles watches him blankly. 

Erik sets his glass on the side table and sits forward. His knees capture Charles’ legs, warm in newly faded jeans, keeping him where he is.

“I know what you mean. It’s odd, and it’s strange, and it feels like cheating. But I’ve never wondered.”

Charles sits up then, mindless of his trapped ankles, and banishes his glass to the table. “You haven’t?” he asks.

“After I met you,” Erik whispers, “not once.”

He leans forward and takes Charles’ face into his palms. Charles’ gaze roams his face rapidly and his breaths come quicker and quicker.

“Not once,” he breathes in wonder, and Erik kisses him.

Charles groans and presses into his body. His lips are as soft as they look—softer, impossibly, and sweet despite the alcohol. Erik tips onto his knees and Charles lies back, clutching at Erik’s shirt and pulling him down, down into an inescapable abyss of want.

*

“Hello, Charles,” Erik says pleasantly. 

Charles slips down from the apple tree, landing silently on bare feet. His jeans are rolled endearingly above his ankles and his original cotton tunic ripples in the breeze.

“Hello, my dear.” He smiles, bending down to kiss Erik’s cheek. Erik puts down his trowel and turns to kiss him properly. Charles sighs over his lips, a sweet sound, more often heard than Erik ever thought he’d be blessed with.

Brilliant wings snap out to sun themselves. They cast well received shade over both of them. Charles kneels next to Erik and fully applies himself to weeding the vegetable gardens. Erik reclaims his trowel and smiles quietly to himself.

*

They kiss furiously, wetly, and dumbfoundingly. Erik pushes in between Charles’ legs, spreading them wider where he’s seated on the kitchen countertop. Any remaining thought flies swiftly from Erik’s mind when Charles slips in, dislodging it accidentally.

_ Erik, Erik, want you, right now——Erik! _

_ “Charles,” _ he gasps between breaths, between searing kisses.

“Erik,” Charles replies, “Erik please—”

Erik scoops Charles up, trying not to laugh for his sudden memory of a day nearly a year ago, now.

“Very funny,” Charles chuckles lowly. “But I’m not sure this is the time for reminiscing.” His voice sends heat straight to Erik’s groin, already showing signs of invested interest.

Charles’ wings trace the floor as he takes him upstairs. They spread outwards when Erik dumps him on the bed, stroking the walls either side.

“Charles,” Erik breathes. “Look at you.”

“Look at  _ you, _ more like,” he replies, his cheeks red and his lips enticingly wet. He tugs his way out of his jeans and flicks his jumper over his head, flinging them off the edge of the bed. Erik kneels over him, latching onto the skin of his neck and running his fingers down every millimetre he can.

“Erik,” Charles moans, throwing his head back against the pillow. “Erik, get these off.” 

He paws at Erik’s shirt until Erik detaches himself and whips it over his head, its neck scraping over the light stubble on his jaw.

“Fuck, you’re hot,” he says.

Erik smirks. “So are you, darling. How do you want me?”

“Everywhere, anywhere, I don’t care, just please,  _ please _ fuck me,” Charles whines.

Erik growls, feeling taken apart at the seams. “Your wish is my command.”

He kisses Charles again, pushing his knees up so he can sit between them. He drags Charles’ underwear from his hips and away, off the bed to who knows where, so he can finally see him in his entire, golden brilliance.

“You’ll make me blush,” Charles says, hiding his eyes behind a hand.

Erik chuckles. He runs fingers up and down the inside of Charles’ thighs, tracing up to his navel and down again. “I think it’s a bit late for that, don’t you?”

“Mmmh!” Charles replies.  _ “Mmpf, _ just—Erik,  _ please.” _

“Yes, my love, it’s okay,” Erik murmurs. He spies the golden words on Charles’ side stretching, like Erik’s, towards the underside of his arm. They have no angel’s wing or X, but an intricate framework pattern running silver through them instead. “You’re gorgeous. Everything about you is gorgeous.”

Charles whines. “Shush! No!”

“Why not?”

“It’s embarrassing?”

Erik laughs, finally taking hold of Charles’ neglected cock. “But it  _ is _ the truth.”

He grins when Charles makes a wounded noise and stops protesting, instead reaching out to return Erik’s favour. He scrabbles through Erik’s fasteners and into his underwear, awkwardly shoving his jeans down for access.

“Would you like some help?” Erik asks.

Charles glares at him. “No,” he says, and Erik’s remaining clothes disappear entirely. He looks up to see them folded on their usual chair across the room. 

“Thank you,” he says, for lack of anything better.

“No,” Charles smirks, “thank  _ you.” _

Erik rolls his eyes and shuffles back a bit, out of reach, crouching low over Charles to press kisses into his chest and stomach. He mouths at his waist and hips, flicking his tongue out to taste the warmth and faint remnants of salt.

“Is this okay?” he asks.

_ “Please,” _ Charles barely whimpers. Erik grins and closes his lip around the tip of Charles’ cock. He squeaks and Erik pushes farther, licking at the underside and sucking on him gently.

“Oh,” Charles moans, “oh _ , oh!” _

Erik licks and swallows and swirls his tongue in the most dangerous ways he can imagine. He hums and bobs up and down a few times, taking in as much as he can each time. Charles squirms and whines and scrabbles at the sheets. His wings curl and shiver, thumping gently against the nightstands. After one particularly loud clatter Charles forces himself to sit up.

“Erik, hey. Erik!” He pushes Erik’s shoulders until he slides his mouth off. 

“Yes?”

“I don’t want to come without you,” he pants. Erik shuts his eyes and grips the base of his own cock tightly. Charles clicks his fingers.

“What did you just do?” Erik asks.

“Prepared myself,” he says proudly.

“That’s  _ absolutely  _ cheating,” Erik decides, trailing his finger down Charles’ thigh to his arse. He circles his hole, revelling in every twitch and shiver. One finger pushes in and Charles squirms.

“You don’t need to—come on, it’s done—”

“Hey, don’t take away the fun parts.” Erik pushes a second finger in. Charles is right, he’s pretty loose and definitely willing.

“I won’t if you actually  _ get _ to the fun parts!”

“Sorry, darling,” he murmurs, kissing his way from Charles’ forehead to his mouth. Charles moans when he gets there, reciprocating enthusiastically.

“Erik.” Charles breaks the kiss, whispering against his skin. “Erik, I want you.”

“Fuck, Charles,” Erik gasps. “Okay, okay.”

He kneels between Charles’ legs and pushes them back into his chest. 

“You’re sure you’re okay with this?” he asks one more time. 

“Yes, Erik,” Charles says. “I’ll do it myself if you don’t hurry up.”

“Has anyone ever mentioned how impatient you are?”

“They’ve never had to.”

*

For only the second time, Erik wakes up to Charles in his bed. His wings are folded in, still draping off the mattress, and feel warm as Erik’s fingers pass through them. They shiver, and Charles opens his eyes.

“Good morning,” he mumbles, and shuffles deeper into Erik’s embrace. Erik smiles and kisses the top of his head. Charles’ hair beneath Erik’s nose is soft and fluffy and threatens to tickle him.

“Morning, my love.”

*

“Oh, shit!” Charles hisses, a day or two later.

“What is it?” Erik runs in from the kitchen, brain already kicking into high gear. “Is someone outside?”

Charles shakes his head and sinks back into the sofa. “Sorry, no, everything’s fine.”

Erik frowns, moving to sit next to him lightly. “What is it, Charles?”

“There was something I was supposed to talk to you about. I completely forgot.”

“I was only about to make us some sandwiches if you’d like to discuss it now?”

Charles drags his hands away from his face and looks up at Erik. His eyes are large and reminiscent of a child, caught red-handed and trying to play innocent.

“Do you remember Miss Maximoff?”

Erik narrows his eyes. “What about her?”

“Oh, nothing’s wrong,” he amends, “nothing out of the ordinary—well…”

“Well?”

“She has children, and I’ve been keeping an eye on them, and I’ve been debating telling you for years because it’s  _ cheating _ but it’s just not fair and I won’t be able to live with myself if—”

“Charles,” Erik cuts in. He lies a hand on Charles’ thigh and traces small circles with his thumb. “It’s okay, slow down.”

Charles nods and sighs deeply. “She was pregnant not very long after you left,” he admits. Erik sucks in a sharp breath. “I would check up on all the people you used to see, back then, so it wasn’t exactly easy to miss.”

“I have a child?” Erik asks quietly. “I left her with my child?”

Charles nods. His throat works but the words seem to stick. “They’re still in the house you used to live in. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, Erik, I’m so—”

“Hey, hey.” Erik shushes Charles gently, pulling him into his arms and rocking them back and forth. “It’s not your fault. I wouldn’t have wanted you to tell me just because you could.”

He gets a weak chuckle in return. “I suppose not. I still feel awful for it, though. For knowing and not telling you.”

“I know you do,” Erik murmurs. “Thank you for telling me now.”

“Any time, darling. Are you really thinking of leaving this afternoon?”

Erik tilts his head to look into Charles’ face. “Do you think it’s too soon?”

Charles winces. “A little? It’s a bit of a drive, do you not think we’d end up intruding on their evening?”

“I suppose it is a weekday, also,” Erik agrees. “And she probably won’t be too happy to see me.” Charles winces again. Erik tries not to laugh for fear of passing out entirely.

“Sandwiches?”

*

“This place hasn’t changed at all,” Erik says. “I bet it’s all the same people, too.”

“That’s not fair,” Charles argues, “number thirty-four repainted and twenty-seven has new owners.”

Erik raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t know you paid so much attention.” Charles quiets and goes a little bit pink.

They pull up outside a respectable, nondescript townhouse. Like most others on the terrace, it’s ivory and bronze-fronted, a step up from street level, with white-bordered windows. It has bright, overflowing flower boxes on the windowsills and fresh paint on the sashes. Two identical bicycles recline against the front of the building.

Erik gets out of the car, gazing up the roofline as he slams the door. Charles gets out of the passenger side (wings conveniently absent) and sits back against the door.

“Good luck,” he says, and Erik nods.

He steps up to the door and takes a deep breath. Movement behind the basement lightwell catches his eye, but he steadies his hand and rings the doorbell once, sharply.

One moment passes. Two. The locks click and turn, and the door falls open.

_ “Natalya,” _ Erik breathes.

“Why are you here?” she asks immediately. She’s barely changed since he left, since she pushed him from the doorstep. She’s older, obviously, with a few more laughter lines tracing her eyes, and somehow she looks smaller, despite how tall she stands now.

“I…” Erik is truly at a loss for what to say. How could he have found out without Charles. “I had a feeling I was missing something.”

She frowns and looks around him to the pavement. “Who’s your friend?”

“A friend,” he says simply.

“Who are you?” a new voice asks. It’s younger, more energetic and innocent, and Erik blinks.

A boy with strikingly silver hair stands at Natalya’s shoulder, taller than her by a mere few inches. He peers at him and chews on gum, arms folded over a faded grey t-shirt. On his head are a pair of goggles, oddly not at odds with his ensemble.

“Pietro, darling,” Natalya says, “please go and get your sister. I have someone you need to meet.” 

“Sure,” Pietro replies, and quite literally vanishes. A small breeze brushes Erik’s shocked face.

“In,” Natalya orders, tipping her head back into the hallway. Erik nods and steps over the threshold, hovering between the door and the coat rack. She doesn’t close the door.

“Twins!” she hisses as she turns on him. “It was  _ twins, _ Erik. I’ve raised them as mine for all this time—I don’t need your help now.”

“I don’t—” Erik manages, but Pietro reappears next to them, hands resting on the arm and neck of an equally striking girl. Her hair sways with unspent momentum, vibrant reddish-auburn in the glinting sun.

“Sorry for the wait,” Pietro says brightly, “she didn’t tell me where she was going before she left. I had to check half the city.”

“Who is this we’re meeting?” his sister asks. She looks Erik over once, up and down. “There is also a man standing in the street. He is not human; is he yours?”

“A friend,” Erik repeats.

“Thank you, Pietro. I’m sorry to drag you away from your friends, Wanda, but I’d like you to meet Erik Lehnsherr. He’s your father.”

Both teens freeze. Erik stands uncertainly, unknowing of what to say. He didn’t think this far, it seems.

_ Don’t worry, my love,  _ Charles projects,  _ it’ll be okay. _

Wanda Maximoff frowns. “Your friend is a telepath,” is the first thing she says. “What are you?”

Pietro brightens, rocking up onto the balls of his feet with poorly contained interest. Erik turns his palm upwards and, ever so carefully, picks the bangle from her wrist and spins it in the air in front of her. He does the same to Pietro’s rings.

“Ohhhh,” Pietro says. “That’s cool! You’re like Wanda!” 

“Not quite,” she says coolly. The bangle returns to her wrist before he thinks to let it. “So, where have you been for the last sixteen years?”

“I—” Erik once again finds himself at a loss. He  _ really _ did not think this through.

“He didn’t know,” Natalya answers for him. “I kicked him out and never told him. Even though he came back thrice after that.”

“Oh,” Wanda says, and both twins drop some of their standoffishness. Wanda holds out her hand. “Hello. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Wanda Maximoff, your daughter. I can control things with my mind.”

Erik takes her hand gently, awed. “It’s an honour to finally meet you, Wanda. I’m Erik, and I can control metal.”

“My turn,” Pietro says, sticking out his hand. “Hi, uh, Dad. I’m Pietro Maximoff, and I’m really fast.”

Erik takes his hand too. “Pietro, it’s an honour. I’m sorry it couldn’t be sooner.”

Pietro releases his hand and smiles, even though he still looks anxious. They stand there in the hallway for a beat, unsure of what to do. Natalya sighs, finally, and the tension thaws from the line of her shoulders like snowmelt.

“Erik, invite your friend inside so I can close the door,” she says. “Let’s sit down and have something to drink.”

*

Charles is lounging around in the new extension when he shouts the news down to Erik.

“Erik! They’ll be here in less than five!”

The night, three months after they’d reunited, that Natalya had agreed to share her children for one weekend a month saw Erik standing on his bedroom landing, only then realising that he just didn’t have enough space. 

When he had first moved in, the cottage had belonged to an elderly lady who had left to be closer to family in the city. It had only had the one bedroom, living space and kitchen. The bathroom had been outdated, though he’d quickly fixed that himself, and the windows he’d been forced to replace once the broken seals had dumped three buckets of water beneath each sill, but he hadn’t added anything to the house since. He hadn’t needed it.

Ever his knight in shining armour, Charles had called upon his terrifying telepath friend Jean, the guardian with two charges. Erik had found out that she also happened to be telekinetic, among other things, and that he really did not want to get on her bad side. She had turned up in a flurry of red and gold, announced that she couldn’t stay long, and had helped Erik construct a sizeable rear extension—two bedrooms and another bathroom—in under forty minutes.

To say that Erik had been impressed would be a gross understatement. The same also stands for the two mutant children currently being driven to his door by his reluctant ex: incredible would not even begin to cover it.

He jogs out to greet them before Natalya can turn her engine off, Charles close behind.

“Hello Erik, Charles,” Natalya says, smiling even through her lingering dislike. She opens the boot and throws the children their bags before hugging them both tightly and kissing each of their cheeks.

“Mum, come on,” Wanda mutters, “we’ll be fine. Being in the forests will be good for us.”

“I know, sweetheart, but I’m your mum,” Natalya sighs. She steps back and watches them make their way over to Erik. “Make sure you behave for your father! Try not to cause any trouble!”

Erik smiles, completely overwhelmed already,.

“Trouble we can handle!” Charles says, grinning. “It’s finding our way back to civilisation that’s the hard bit!”

Natalya laughs, slightly, and returns to her car. The four wave her a safe journey, and then the twins turn eagerly to their father.

“Hi, Dad,” Pietro chirps. “It’s good to see you.”

“Hi,” Wanda echoes. “This is a really nice place you have.”

“It’s good to see you both, too,” Erik smiles, ruffling Pietro’s hair instinctively. He wrinkles his nose and tries to soothe it back down. “You look very well.”

“Of course they are,” Charles smiles, “they have a wonderful mother. Now, come on in, everyone; lunch is ready if you’re hungry.”

The twins are only in the house for two nights, but Erik is already mourning his life lived without them. Charles holds him in the evenings when they go to bed giddy with happiness. 

Pietro runs wildly through the trees every other hour, just because he can, and Wanda takes to the skies and ties tree branches in knots,  _ just because she can. _

Erik teaches them the best ways to gather and cut firewood, and Charles pushes them all out onto the lake jetty to eat picnics in the late summer warmth. They talk and they talk and they actually  _ laugh _ with him, not at him or about him, and they’re  _ happy. _

“Thanks, Dad,” Wanda says quietly when they leave. She wraps her arms around his middle and squeezes before letting go and doing the same to Charles. The poor man smiles, bemused but elated, and hugs her back. 

“Bye Dad! Bye Charles!” Pietro shouts, waving from Natalya’s car.

*

The next time Erik visits them, he takes the twins out to the aquarium. 

“Thank you for being so good with them,” Natalya says quietly in the hall before they go. 

Erik nods and smiles carefully. “I wouldn’t dare be anything less.”

Pietro points out every kind of tropical fish he sees and Wanda keeps straying back to the amphibians exhibit, so they spend ample time in each. He gets them both keyrings and one of those fridge magnets with coloured water inside to make the tiny plastic fish swim, and takes them out for ice cream after.

Pietro points out the few shops he’s been caught stealing from and Wanda takes them to the park with the nicest views to finish their ice creams. They tell him about their friends and the school projects they’ve done (or not) over the years. He tells them about the places he’s been, the people he’s met, and everything he remembers of their grandparents.

“Say hi to Charles for us,” Pietro tells him. He throws his arms around Erik’s shoulders, briefly, and disappears into the house. 

Wanda sighs and rolls her eyes. “Boys,” she mutters, and hugs Erik too. “Bye bye, Dad. See you soon.”

“See you soon, darling,” Erik says. “Make sure you both look after your mother.”

“We will.” She smiles and waves until he can no longer see the house in his rearview mirror.

*

One afternoon, just as the blossoms are beginning to sprout on the apple tree, there’s an unexpected knock at Erik’s door. He frowns but goes to open it, cautiously. Charles would have warned him if it was someone untoward, but Erik is still surprised to come face to face with an unusual young boy. 

“Hello,” he says, even as he makes his best attempt to mentally holler Charles' name. “What can I do for you?”

The boy in front of him is skittish, tall for his age, and as blue as the night is long.

_ Ouch, _ Charles projects to him.  _ What's wrong, Erik? _

“Um, I'm sorry sir,” he stammers, speaking German though they’re not in Germany, “but I've been wandering for ages and your house is the first I've come across.”

_ Why is Kurt on our doorstep? _

_ Oh? _

“Are you in need of help? Food? A place to stay?” Erik asks.

Kurt looks at him in shock. “I, uh, I do not want to impose on you sir—” he flusters, but the loud growl of his stomach interrupts him. He clutches his midriff with tense horror, bent forward and pitifully vulnerable. Erik tries to smile kindly. It possibly comes off as menacing. 

“I suppose you'll have to thank your little guardian angel,” he says, and barely manages to conceal his amusement. It's worth it just to see the child balk.

Charles appears at his shoulder, then, in his usual jeans and soft jumper.

“Oh, Erik, stop teasing the boy. Come in, Kurt. You're safe now.”

Kurt's eyes are wide and flicking from Erik to Charles, to Charles' wings and back. He nods quickly, but before any of them can move a tall woman materialises next to him.

“Charles!” she shouts, tearing past Erik to throw herself at him. Both Erik and Kurt get a face full of feathers.

“Raven!” Charles exclaims in like, grinning broadly. His arms are wrapped tightly around her very blue chest. “It is  _ so _ good to see you.”

“Come on then,” Erik tuts, “everyone inside.”

“Who's this?” Pietro asks, whipping into the fray. He circles Kurt an unknowable number of times. “Oh, I like this guy. Can we keep him, Dad?”

Kurt looks inordinately shocked, even for a person meeting Pietro for the first time. Beside Erik, Charles lights up.

“Who are we keeping?” Wanda shouts from the living room.

“This guy!” Pietro replies. “He's cool and he's blue and he even has a tail!”

“It's you!” Kurt splutters, and Pietro spins back to look at him. “I mean—I’m sorry! It’s just, you said—!”

Kurt doesn't know what to do with himself. Erik gives him a sympathetic, long-suffering smile.

“Oh crap, it's  _ you,” _ Pietro parrots, dumbstruck.

“Oh, fucking  _ hell,” _ Erik mutters. “Of  _ course _ it's him. Wanda, could you help me get started on lunch? We've picked up two more mouths to feed.”

“Can I at least say hello first?  _ Papa! _ You're in the way!”

“Sorry!” Charles yelps, finally disengaging from his sister.

_ “All right!” _ Erik huffs. “Can everyone please go inside!” They snicker but do as he asks, and he can finally escape the unexpected crowd.

“Thank you,” Charles says quietly, popping up at his side and slipping his hand into Erik's. Erik squeezes it, still smiling.

“Family look after each other,” he replies. 

Charles kisses him softly. Erik is home.


End file.
